Tag Archives: Palestine

As I read Christians and a Land Called Holy by Charles Lutz and Robert Smith, both ELCA pastors, I am shocked to discover that much of what I know about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been filtered through the lens of western media outlets that fail to present a balanced or objective view of Middle Eastern affairs. Sadly, I, like many other Americans, have unwittingly developed preconceived images of Palestinians as terrorists who intentionally targeted innocent Israelis citizens for attack during the second Intifada; a perception further reinforced by media coverage of Hamas and other radical Islamic groups (Muslim Brotherhood) resorting to violence in the Gaza Strip. Why, I wonder, don’t we hear about the apartheid-like efforts to separate Israelis and Palestinians from one another? Why don’t we hear about the actions of people who are advocating for peace and justice? Why do major news outlets fail to report on the Israeli government’s provocative building of settlements on Palestinian land or its ongoing illegal activities throughout the West Bank? Why the silence?

Sadly, the silence is killing people, crushing dreams, engendering hatred, and slowly strangling hopes for a lasting and just peace for both Israelis and Palestinians. How, I wonder, can well-intentioned Christians advocate for justice in light of these challenges and political realities? In my opinion, we must shed our initial apathy and begin to take action, however insignificant our first steps may be, and advocate for justice for all of people in the Holy Land. I also realize that I have a choice. I can live in blissful ignorance of the suffering of fellow human beings, or I can listen and learn from the “living stones,” the people of the Holy Land that I will encounter during the trip. Only then will I be able to speak prophetically and to stand in critical solidarity with Palestinians and Israelis via a hermeneutic of justice (p. 55, 60).

Why does this place matter? Why does it matter that we have come to this place?

“Cities that can’t grow, die” noted Reverend Mitri Raheb during our brief conversation with him shortly after arriving in Bethlehem. At the time, I really did not understand the complicated nature of Palestinian-Israeli relations. Nor did I fully understand the powerful truth of Pastor Rehab’s barbed comment. Everything changed for me; however, when our group had the opportunity to visit the Wi’ am Center, a Palestinian advocacy organization committed to promoting conflict resolution, citizen diplomacy, youth advocacy, women’s empowerment, and peaceful transformation in a land battered by hatred and violence. Here, in the shadow of a monstrous wall that encircles the town of Bethlehem I am suddenly struck by the realization that Bethlehem and other Palestinian settlements choked by this ghastly structure have become veritable human prisons.

Even the defiant graffiti brings to mind images of Eastern German dictators who ultimately failed to hold back the tide of liberty and democracy in Europe. Perhaps justice will someday reach this place too, even in the midst of the Israeli government’s military might. While Bethlehem and other Palestinian settlements in the West Bank find themselves encircled by the “Separation Barrier” and frequent military checkpoints, the Israeli government continues to build settlements throughout the West Bank, including a modern outcropping of well-kept homes and apartments that are snaking their way perilously close to Bethlehem. It’s almost as if the Israeli government is building these structures in the West Bank both to taunt the Palestinians and to daily remind the Palestinians of their status as an occupied people.

This place matters because it is here that we have the opportunity to see firsthand that Israeli politicians and military leaders seem intent on “making a land without a people for the land.” It also matters that we have come to this place in order to bear witness to the humiliation of physical separation barriers and checkpoints based solely on a people’s ethnicity. Instead of making the state of Israel more secure, such near-sighted policies only create fertile soil for engendering hatred and spawning the rise of radical extremists who seek vengeance with rockets and random acts of violence directed against unidentified oppressors. Yet, it is also here in a Bethlehem neighborhood situated in the shadow of Goliath’s wall where a dedicated staff of people affiliated with the Wi’am Center cling to a belief in the transformative power of hope by advocating for restorative justice and peace. This place matters. In the midst of oppression it defiantly stands as a visible symbol of sustainable development, empowerment of the oppressed, and hope for a better future. It also matters that we, Christian pilgrims hailing from a land that cherishes democracy, personal liberty, and equality have the opportunity to bear witness to what we have seen and to take seriously the Christian vocation to actively seek peace and justice for our oppressed brothers and sisters.

2) Describe a specific and significant encounter with a person or people from our pilgrimage.

During our time in Bethlehem I had the opportunity to visit with Rony Tabash, Epiphany Tabash, and their father. The Tabash family operates the Nativity Store, a third-generation family-owned business located adjacent to Manger Square. Rony and Epiphany were very eager to engage our group once they learned that we were seminarians from the United States. Although it was late in the evening, Rony called for his father to come to the shop to spend time with fellow Christians. While we waited for him to arrive Rony explained to me that his father was Catholic and his mother was Eastern Orthodox. After his father arrived, Rony and Epiphany busied themselves assisting the influx of newly-arrived tourists eager to spend their money on olivewood nativity sets and chalices while I spent the time engaged in conversation with the family patriarch to ascertain his opinion regarding the current situation in Palestine. According to Mr. Tabash “no one can know what it is like to live here (Palestine) until they have spent several generations in Bethlehem.” Only later did I recognize the wisdom of Mr. Tabash’s statement.

Given my residency in the United States of America, I have never lived under the yoke of foreign occupation. My security and personal liberties have never been threatened. Far from it, we have laws in place designed to rigorously defend our personal liberty and religious and political rights. Yet, here in the land that heralded the birth of the Prince of Peace, countless Palestinian families have known only oppression, war, and the constant threat to personal freedoms that so many of us take for granted. Mr. Tabash informed me that his father experienced life under Turkish, British, Jordanian, Israeli, and Palestinian rule. Although he has permission to travel anywhere in Israel, he remarked that he is treated as someone who is less than human when he does, due to the searches and endless queues that he must endure any time that he leaves Bethlehem. Like other Palestinian Christians, most of his family has left Palestine because they cannot put up with the treatment. In fact, Mr. Tabash informed me that his two sisters now live in the United States (San Antonio and San Francisco). Sadly, both women are afraid to return home to Bethlehem. Although Mr. Tabash may travel freely throughout Israel, he told me that he “feels like a free man” only when he visits his two sisters in America. When I asked Mr. Tabash if he still had hope for a peaceful resolution to the current situation he replied, “Hope? What hope is there? We pray and we hope.”

Although his response contained elements of both remorse and skepticism, I also sensed a belief on Mr. Tabash’s part that he had not lost faith in the power of the Almighty to bring about change in this part of the world. As long as people like Mr. Tabash have faith that a peaceful solution is possible, perhaps peace is possible. As we left the store Mr. Tabash presented us with small gifts in token of his appreciation of our visit while encouraging us to remember what we see in Palestine and to tell others about it.

My encounter with Mr. Tabash, although relatively innocuous at the time, has left a deep impression on me. While I thoroughly enjoyed our opportunity to interact with highly-regarded Palestinian activists (Mitri Raheb, Zoughbi Zoughbi, and Archbishop Elias Chacour), the person-to-person encounter with Mr. Tabash helped me to connect with an ordinary person who shares the same hopes and dreams for his family, aspirations that many of us in the United States take for granted. As I think back on this encounter, especially in light of my own context, I cannot help but recall Elias Chacour’s admonition that it is high time that Christians who hunger and thirst for justice must “get their hands dirty” for “peace does not need people to meditate on it but to take action for it” (Faith Beyond Despair, 49).

Although I had ventured to the Holy Lands to visit sites connected with the origins of my faith, I came away realizing that Christianity is a living faith. Our most precious monuments are not the excavated remains of places associated with our Lord and Savior, rather it is the “living stones,” the people for whom our God took human form and willing suffered and died for on our behalf that we must remember. It is for these people, our brothers and sisters around the world, that we must be willing to live lives of authentic Christian discipleship.

Inclusive language itself is a broad topic. When we start talking about global inclusive language, it opens us up to another grand amount of issues with our use of language. At times it can be even overwhelming to think of how to say something, especially when in another country and one is trying to be mindful of the multitude of culture intricacies that are present in the context. Overall, being mindful of global inclusive language means learning more about the contexts and self-identities of the people we encounter across the world and in our own backyards.

One should use geographically generalizing terms. Avoiding general terms such as “African” or “Asian” and instead using specific terms such Tanzanian or Hmong can help give voice to a particular group of people with a particular national or cultural identity. Even in this example we need to be careful because sometimes using only “nationality” as an identifier can be hurtful in places where people are suffering from political oppression. In the same way, using nationality can be affirming in places where people are by the rest of the world denied having a specific national identity. What is often useful is having an open and honest conversation with the people one meets, and being open to the possibility that such people may completely disagree with oneself.

Also one should be mindful of acknowledging social justice issues. What one says about a situation can be particularly affirming or offensive to the people one meets. In Israel and Palestine, I have met some people who will call the whole land simply “Israel” or simply “Palestine,” and yet will never acknowledge the presence of the other due to the conflict. In this case, I felt it was not my place to correct or comment on these individuals’ lack of distinction between the two, but instead I moved to listen to their stories as people who were living within the conflict. Often times we can walk into these traps without knowing it, and what becomes helpful is then listening to the stories behind the social justice issues so that one can inform others of what was learned.

Finally we need to be mindful of how we speak about ourselves. In the local dialect of Arabic in Palestine, people from the United States are known as “Ameirican,” which is obviously derived from “American.” This is problematic, because people from the United States are not the only Americans in the world, but yet people across the world have picked up on our use of identifying ourselves with the term “American.” Canadians, Brazilians, Mexicans, Jamaicans, and many other countries are a part of the land mass known as “America,” which itself is divided into two (and according to others, three) sections. This also does not acknowledge the many First World Peoples who struggle to maintain their cultural identity apart from the colonial identity. Also, calling ourselves “Americans” denies the uniqueness in the identity and history we have in being citizens of the United States of America.

Like all things in understanding inclusive language, we will always fall short. It is a struggle in which we gain insight on how we use words and their impact on others by walking with our brothers and sisters in Christ across in the globe, and even in our own backyard. Understanding the issues of colonial oppression on the identity of people and the struggles of maintaining cultural identity in an ever globalizing world can go a long way to help people speak in terms that lift up the humanity in the global neighbor.